ME: Hello God?
GOD: H’yup.
ME: I’m David. Do you have a minute?
GOD: I know who you are.
ME: You do?
GOD: Of course, David. You’re the writer.
ME: Wow!
GOD: I particularly like that 23rd Psalm of yours.
ME: I didn’t write the 23rd Psalm.
GOD: But your name is David and you said you’re a writer.
ME: You said I was a writer. And I am. Sorta.
GOD: Sorta?
ME: Yes. Sorta. I write a blog.
GOD: Oh Me! What’s a blog?
ME: It’s a venue where you can make stuff up… you know… and share your ideas without having ‘em scrutinized by an editor. No agents or publishing houses to deal with… Hell, it doesn’t even… Oops… Sorry…
GOD: Go on.
ME: …doesn’t even have to be factual.
GOD: I’m familiar with the genre. They’ve been around a lot longer than you have, David. Some folks call ‘em scriptures.
When did they start calling ‘em… What did you call ‘em?
ME: Blogs. I write a blog.
GOD: Yes. A blog. On parchment?
ME: No. Electronically. On the net… You know, the web…
GOD: On the what? How do you… Never mind.
[SUBVOCALIZED] Jesus! Kids these days..
JESUS: [OFF STAGE] D’you call me, Dad?
GOD: No! I’m talkin’ to David, here…
JESUS: The 23rd Psalm guy? From Judea?
GOD: I’m not sure where he’s from. Now don’t interrupt, kid! I’m havin’ a conversation here…
[TO ‘ME’] So, what do you write about?
ME: Oh… Umm… Travel. History of California… the West. And stuff I see or make up or think about while I’m riding my motorcycle. Although sometimes I just sing Sinatra tunes.
GOD: Ah! Sinatra. Wish he’da made it… [SINGS] Some day…
TOGETHER: …when I’m awfully low,
when the world is cold,
I will feel a glow just thinking of you…
[PAUSE. GOD AND ‘ME’ MAKE EYE CONTACT]
GOD: Wait! You ride a motorcycle? They’re an abomination!
ME: I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. They sure are exhilarating, though. Breath-taking.
GOD: Lots of exhilarating, breath-taking things are an abomination. What kind of motorcycle is it?
ME: A Ducati. It’s Italian.
GOD: Loquerisne mihi ex Italia? Papa non es homo?
ME: What?
GOD: I’m sorry. I slipped into Latin. I figured it out. You’re from Italy…
ME: No, I’m stateside.
GOD: Stateside?
ME: The new world.
GOD: There’s a new world? Why wouldn’t I know this?
ME: Other side of the planet from Italy.
GOD: Oh. Got it. Anyway, I asked if you were the Pope. A lot of folks think I have a hand in picking him.
ME: Yeah, well, a lot of folks think it’s just politics.
GOD: It must be something like that. I sure as hell don’t pick winners and losers. Not even for the Super Bowl.
ME: Wait! You just said, “Sure as hell.” So, hell is a sure thing?
GOD: Have you seen Ukraine lately? Aleppo, Syria? North Korea? Barstow…
ME: Point taken.
GOD: So, David. What did you wake me up for?
ME: Oh! I didn’t mean to wake you up. I can call back later.
GOD: No. No. I don’t get too many calls lately. Most are just the self-righteous who dial me up and want me to condemn this or that. I tell ‘em they’re barkin’ up the wrong tree – tell ‘em maybe Billy Graham’s kid can do that for ‘em, or that Ted Cruz fella. He’s pretty good at condemning things – and then I hang up.
ME: - - -
GOD: Saayyyy… You don’t want me to condemn anything or anybody, do you?
ME: Not off the top of my head. I’m sure I could come up with somebody or something if I thought about it.
GOD: Don’t bother yourself. No need. If somebody or something needs condemning, I’ve already got it figured out. I’ve got almost everything figured out. Like I did with you and that 23rdPsalm.
ME: But I told you I didn’t write the 23rd Psalm.
GOD: Hey! I’m fallible.
ME: What? Fallible? You?
GOD: Sure. You know that part about people being made in My image?
ME: Yeah.
GOD: Well, are people fallible?
ME: Umm… Yeah.
GOD: Well then, wouldn’t it follow that I’m fallible, too? Certainly, I’ve screwed up from time to time. Earthquakes? Floods? Plagues? Locusts? Cable television? Those were just screw ups on my part.
ME: But that’s not what the Good Book tells us.
GOD: Do you think I had anything to do with your so-called Good Book?
ME: Didn’t you?
GOD: Look. I’ve made stuff up. The fish of the sea. The birds of the air. The beasts of the field. But the Good Book? Someone else made that up.
ME: Someone else?
GOD: Sure! Why should I toot my own horn? I leave that to Gabriel or, if he’s not available, Satchmo.
ME: Louis Armstrong made it? I heard he smoked weed and sh… stuff.
GOD: Louis Armstrong made it.
ME: But Sinatra didn’t…
GOD: What can I say? I work in mysterious ways…
ME: [AFTER A PAUSE] So, what do you do with your time?
GOD: Time? What’s that but an invention of mankind?
ME: I never thought of it that way…
GOD: Before you all invented time, as I recall, the sun came up and everybody did some things, then the sun went down, and everybody went to sleep. Simple. Perfection, I’d call it. Then you all invent time and screw it up.
ME: Now wait a minute, sir… I mean, your highness… I mean…
GOD: Call me God. It’s short. It’s sorta sweet. It’s direct.
ME: Okay, “God.” Look, I didn’t invent time. I didn’t invent much of anything other than those motorcycle stories and history tidbits I post on my blog.
GOD: Do others like your work? Some folks like my work.
If someone likes your work, it kinda gives a reason for your… your… existence.
ME: So, is there a reason for existence for everybody?
GOD: That would have been a good plan.
ME: So, you didn’t have a plan?
GOD: Well, to be honest with you, not really. What happened was short, sweet, and simple. A bit like a Science Fair project for a fifth grader.
ME: Science Fair?
GOD: Sure. You see, hundreds of billions of what you folks call years ago, I created a couple of gas clouds and I had them floating around in space. Then, to see what might happen, I exhaled a puff on one and then the other and they sorta collided. I’d figured that nothing would happen, or at worst, the combined clouds might turn green or turquoise, then just kinda dissipate. But wow! Did I get that wrong! Hell of an explosion! You shoulda seen it!
ME: So, the whole thing was more like an accident?
GOD: Accident? Accident! I’m not sure I could admit anything like that. I have to think of my standing with… with… umm… the faithful. I mean, I may bungle some things but….
ME: [INTERUPTING] But what?
GOD: Look! Nobody’s perfect. But, that said, David, I’d advise you to remember that you’re talking to God here. And I’m the last entity you want hanging up on you.
ME: Oh. Y…y…yes. Sorry.
GOD: Hey! Not a problem! I’m all about forgiveness. All you gotta do is ask…
Anyway, as a result of the blast, a bunch of bits of stuff… matter… phlogiston…. started flying out all over the place. Icy stuff. Molten stuff. The hot stuff spun around until it formed these beautiful, almost perfect balls. Planets, like that one you’re on. And ever since that happened, I just sit back and watch… monitor things. Most of this is outside of my control.
ME: How long ago was this?
GOD: I don’t do time, remember. [ASIDE] Although that Donald Trump character probably should.
ME: So, you just sit back and watch.
GOD: Yes. I guess it’s like a giant… what do you call ‘em?.. video game. Like your alternate reality, except it’s real reality. So, yeah. For me, I just sit back and watch my universe expand.
ME: Your universe? Are there others?
GOD: Well, I think Zeus has one. And several other guys.
ME: Guys?
GOD: You don’t think a bunch of old white men came up with male dominance on their own, do you?
ME: - - -
GOD: Another one of my screw ups.
ME: Well, I’m afraid I’ve got another one to tell you about.
GOD: Oh, yeah?
ME: Yeah. Let me ask you a question.
GOD: Shoot.
ME: How’s your prostate?
GOD: My what?
ME: Your prostate. It’s a little gland in your lower belly that produces hormones and fluids and the stuff that helps men with their part in creating new life.
GOD: You create new life?
ME: Yep. I suppose it’s part of that chain reaction you set off with your Big Bang Science Fair experiment. Did you get a ribbon or anything for that?
GOD: No. I do recall singing my whiskers pretty good.
ME: Well, the prostate is about the size of a walnut, although, on you, it might be bigger. For you, I’d bet an XXXL.
GOD: I’m… well… fit for my age.
ME: Well, the prostate, like damned near everything else you created, is made up of cells.
GOD: Cells? Like what Socrates or OJ was in?
ME: No, silly… I mean sir… I mean… Oh, God.
GOD: Yes?
ME: A cell is a living unit. A building block. A membrane like a balloon filled with fluid and some sort of a nucleus that regiments and regulates how big it gets and how it fits in with others.
GOD: Sounds governmental.
ME: Actually, it’s biological. Except…
GOD: Except what?
ME: Except when for some reason unknown to us… maybe known to you…
GOD: Search me. I don’t even know what you’re talking about here…
ME: …the cells mutate or change and no longer fit together correctly. Then a man can’t pee, can’t develop a… well, can’t reproduce… and sometimes the crazy cells start to invade other parts of the body. Usually happens once a guy is fifty to sixty years old. Maybe older.
GOD: I don’t do time, remember?
ME: Yeah. But you’re old. So, how’s your prostate? Can you pee? Can you have kids?
GOD: Well, David, if you’ll recall, the last time I fathered a child, the whole thing was a bit of a fiasco.
ME: Don’t get me started on that! But here’s my question. I’ve lived a pretty clean life, didn’t do drugs, never smoked much other than the occasional cigar, attended church for a while…
GOD: For a while?
ME: Yeah. Had to quit. Evangelicals. Money changers. Bastards hiding behind the skirts of believers and the gullible in order to do their evil.
GOD: Of course. Another of my great disappointments.
ME: Drank a little scotch. Maybe too much.
GOD: What kind?
ME: Lagavulin 16.
GOD: Nice. I prefer the Oban. Nectar of the… well… Me.
ME: Anyway, about a month ago, they did me a blood draw and, in checking things out, found there’s a bit of a carnival going on in my prostate. Now they say they have to cut it out or zap it…
GOD: I could zap it for you…
ME: No thanks. I’ve seen what happened with your last experiment.
GOD: So, what’s your question?
ME: Well, they say it’s pretty curable, but if they don’t catch it in time… and they may not have in my case… the mutant cells may spread throughout my body, and I may die.
GOD: Really? How soon?
ME: You don’t do time, remember?
GOD: Right. Sorry.
ME: So, here’s my question. They say you see all and know all…
GOD: David. I’m not the Wizard of Oz. I’m not even sure I’m the man behind the curtain anymore.
ME: Okay. Okay. I’m just worried that things are gonna come to an end before I’m through with all I want to do.
GOD: David, there’s not a thinking person alive that doesn’t have the same concern as they peer into that valley of the shadow you wrote about.
ME: I didn’t write the…
GOD: Shush, now! You want my advice?
ME: Uh… Sure.
GOD: Then listen: Use your current… umm... circumstance as a motivator to make the best of the… what do you call it?... the time you have. Live, love, write, dream. Got any unfinished projects?
ME: Yeah.
GOD: Well, just finish ‘em and rejoice. Then, what the hell, start another. Okay?
ME: - - -
GOD: Oh, but keep this in mind: As long you insist on tearing around on that damned Ducati, it’s likely that it won’t be the prostate that does you in…
A MASSIVE BOOM RESONATES, ECHOING FOR SEVERAL SECONDS…
GOD: Well crap!
ME: What was that?
GOD: [RISES, SIGHS AUDIBLY] Mother Nature. Looks like somebody tried to pass off another cheap-assed stick of margarine as butter again. Haven’t you people learned that it’s not nice to fool with her?
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Church of the Open Road Press
